XXXXII, or: The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything
by TheLastLynx
Summary: Hermione is incensed by sexist advice shared at work. Draco makes her feel better. Many times over. Cross-posted from AO3. Originally written for SD Valentine's Smut Fest 2019. P with a little P.


**This is a slightly reworked version of the fic I've written for the 2019 Strictly Dramione Valentine's Smut Fest on AO3. I originally wanted to change it quite a bit, but I can't seem to improve it, even though some have tried to help (thanks to sarena and jamethiel). Ultimately, it's making me mad, sitting in my folders, unfinished, so I'm posting it as it is, unbeta'ed. I hope you can enjoy it nevertheless. **

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! This work comes with a deep yellow warning for very lemony smut !

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_**XXXXII**_

_**or**_

_**The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything**_

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_It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife._

That might as well have been the title of this particular irritating chapter in Hermione's life, as she was currently absorbed by the challenge of tuning out the high-pitched, banshee-like voice of Pansy Parkinson that was cutting through her office like a shard.

Another day at the ministry, another day of Pansy "educating" (read: annoying) the office, the corridor, and probably the entire department floor about her favourite topic: the best ways to get a man.

Today's episode featured the ever-successful, age-old tricks of pure-blooded women in the noble art of husband-trapping.

Hermione stifled a sigh of irritation. Head held in her hands, she fixed her eyes firmly on the last annual report on house-elf treatment, willing her mind to follow.

'Of course, pure-blooded witches are much more adept at making advantageous matches since they've had centuries of practice.' The cutting soprano was interrupted by the tell-tale ruffling of someone leafing through a magazine. 'Look here, for example–'

Hermione gritted her teeth. She itched to perform a silencing charm. If only the last time hadn't gone so terribly wrong...

Just like today, Pansy and Daisy, the other secretary, had been rattling on and on about the importance of the wardrobe and a "proper" beauty routine – matters of life and death, apparently. Hermione knew that their discussion was aimed at her when Pansy lamented a "lack of style and poise[1] [2] " with "certain witches."

Being a practical witch, she'd simply blocked the inane chatter with a silencing charm. All would've been well were if not for her thin-skinned and incompetent department head, Augustus Thornprickle, who had chosen precisely that moment to search her out and discuss a thoroughly unimportant issue. Thornprickle who was not the brightest light in the book by any stretch of the imagination had not detected the silencing charm and subsequently thought Hermione had ignored him on purpose…

It had been a complete and utter mess.

In any case, no silencing charms this time.

'–mummy said that that's the way Felicitas Mulciber got her husband to propose after just three months!'

'Just three months!'

Hermione looked desperately over at the large office clock over the door; only two more hours 'til the weekend.

With another fortifying breath, she glued her eyes to the pile of documents right in front of her. But as she tried to do what — under normal circumstances — came so naturally to her (namely, focus on her work), she realised that her unparalleled powers of concentration were simply no match for Pansy's petty parade of vapid observations. Even worse, the list itself was an abomination; a sexist collection of outdated sentiments that were almost as offensive as they were ridiculous. The most ridiculously part, however, was that they sounded suspiciously un-wizard-y and distinctly Muggle-ish.

'Here's number 42—' Pansy's nasal whine rang in Hermione's ears.

'Let's hear it then,' she mumbled whilst massaging her temples.

'If you're at a resort,' Pansy intoned with all the gravitas that had befitted an Order of Merlin acceptance speech, 'have the bell-boy page you.'

The sentence was punctuated by little gasps of astonishment from Daisy.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sounds just like the answer to life, the universe, and everything.'

'"The bell-boy should page me" – what does that mean?' Daisy eagerly. Hermione could just imagine her hanging on Pansy's every word, burning to put the advice into practice. However, although she was biting her lip to not burst out laughing, she found herself intrigued as well: a pager was so very obviously Muggle that she was eager to know how Pansy would explain it away this time.

'Well,' Pansy said in that magnanimous tone, as if she was, indeed, entrusting Daisy with the answer to life, the universe, and everything, '"Paging" was a fashionable way of communication amongst pure-bloods in the 1950s and '60s. Witches and wizards would charm pages of papers to fly around and notify you with a ring if you had an appointment.'

'Ohhhh,' Daisy said breathlessly.

The long held-back snort finally escaped, and Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from guffawing. She should have known that pure-bloods, and Pansy, in particular, would rather bend over backwards than admit that they had copied anything Muggle. In fact, she'd wager her entire Valentine's weekend trip with Draco that the whole bloody list of "life advice" was actually a Muggle article.

'The most important thing is that a wizard believes you're busy and well-connected,' Pansy declared, raising her tone to impossibly higher, more obnoxious levels. 'Not too much though; nobody wants a busybody for a wife. I mean—' Pansy paused theatrically, and Hermione knew that whatever piece of horridness that was to follow was directed at her— 'It might work well enough if you're just a,' she halted and then sneered, '_girlfriend_.' (Hermione was biting into her fingers to keep her composure.) 'But for the _real thing_, marriage, that'll never do. No self-respecting wizard will want a wife who's too "_busy"_—_' _A_gain, _she said it as if the word was the vocabulary equivalent to sweaty feet. '—to raise the children and keep the household.'

Hermione bit her lip as not to break out in laughter. It was hilarious that, even four years later, Pansy was still so agitated by the fact that Hermione was with a pure-blood. And not just any pure-blood, but the former poster boy of pure-blood superiority himself, one Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione looked up. The smaller hand of the clock edged closer to the magic number four. A little shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. This Valentine's day would be their fourth anniversary —which was ironic because Hermione was not a romantic person.

Draco had found that out the hard way when, after months of flirtations and banter exchanged in-between office doors, corridors and in elevators, he planned to surprise-overwhelm an unsuspecting Hermione into a date. Unfortunately, when she returned from her lunch break to find her office covered in orange lilies belting out "La donna è mobile", she broke out in laughter. It was a natural reaction, really. Draco who was eagerly awaiting her response did, however, not see the humour of the situation. It took Hermione one day and a very convincing set of lingerie to restore his bruised ego and convince him that she did, in fact, like him back.

Hermione grinned fondly at the memory of the look on his face when she dropped her proper Ministry robes to reveal a lacy teddy that highlighted all her favourite body parts and exposed all his favourite bits. It was almost as good as the memory of him almost fainting because all the blood had rushed south far too quickly. Or the memory of her reviving him. Repeatedly.

Yes, that was definitely her favourite memory of all.

'It's sooo important to make things official as soon as possible. What does it say about you if, several years later, the wizard still hasn't proposed?' Fake sighs of sympathy sounded from the secretary desks.

Hermione bit her lip. No, Pansy hadn't taken it well that she and Draco were a couple. After a (sadly, far too brief) period of stunned incredulity came months of vicious comments, all centring around the fact that Draco would realise soon enough that Hermione was common and not at all worth his time.

Since Hermione hadn't cared one iota about all the bitching and whining, Draco had only found out about it by accident when he walked in on Pansy during one of her tirades. Furious, he had devised his very own and very Malfoy-ish revenge plan which included sending Hermione over-the-top bouquets which conveniently always happened to arrive when she was in a meeting - which then required the secretaries to sign them off and arrange them in her office.

Hermione felt a little tug at her heart as she marvelled at the exuberant bouquet of red and burgundy roses sitting atop her desk.

This was just one example why the four years with Draco had been some of the best of her life. Who would have thought that he would turn out to be everything she wanted in a man? He was as witty as he was stubborn, he possessed incredible patience, and yet he could also be extremely kind if he chose to be. Most importantly though, they both shared a passionate nature. It fuelled their arguments, but it also ignited their bedroom.

They were perfectly matched.

Pansy was not amused by this. Every year, roughly around Valentine's Day, she got even more vicious than usual, smugly pointing out that there was still no engagement ring on Hermione's finger. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't bothered by this one bit; at just 29,[3] she wasn't feeling any rush at all to get married. A promotion, on the other hand, was something she was rather impatient for; anything to get rid of petty Pansy and prickly Thornprickle, really.

So there they were, Pansy making thinly veiled jokes about how Draco was not serious with Hermione, and Hermione sitting at her desk wishing it was four o'clock so she could meet Draco for their weekend trip to Florence in celebration of their anniversary. (Not Venice, obviously, because Hermione categorically refused to fall into yet another romantic cliché.)

'If your wizard hasn't made his intentions clear after four years, you're not what he is looking for.'

Hermione rolled her eyes.

To distract herself from glowering at the clock whose hands were definitely moving too slowly, she thought about her present for Draco: like every year, she planned to surprise him with a particularly racy piece of lingerie. This year she had opted for a teddy that covered the body in the most beautiful dark lace and had cut-outs in all the right places.

The inane chatter faded away as Hermione thought of all the things she could do to him...

Draco couldn't stop laughing when Hermione recounted the story hours later. The sun was sinking behind the hills and made the city below them glow in the brightest shades of orange and yellow.

'It's utterly ridiculous.' She dropped her holdall and sank onto the large bed. 'As if anyone's worth could be determined by their marital status.'

Draco quirked an eyebrow. 'My, my, Granger. Pansy really does have it in for you.'

Hermione let herself fall back onto the pillows and sighed.

Draco strolled across the room and sat down next to her. He took one of her winter-darkened strands in his hand, twisting it around his slender fingers. 'You should take it as a compliment.'

Hermione brought her hands to her eyes, rubbing them. 'I really don't find anything particularly complimentary about that. Besides, it's just ridiculous that they think a woman's place is in the kitchen! It's 2009 for heaven's sake!'

Draco chuckled lightly. He collected more and more locks and wrapped them around his fingers. His other hand gently explored her face. His fingertips travelled over her cheek to her jawline, gently stroking up and down her neck.

'Why does it matter what she thinks, Granger?' he said softly. 'Not everyone can be a strong, independent woman.'

Hermione snorted. Draco continued his tender explorations. He was drawing lazy circles into the skin of her neck. He increased their radius ever so slightly that his fingertips brushed against her collarbone and travelled further downward.

'I'm serious, Granger.' His mouth was close to her face and she felt his breath tingle pleasantly against the shell of her ear. 'If she'd rather be a wife, that's her choice.'

'You're probably right.' Hermione sighed. Draco's caresses never failed to relax her. 'I just wish she would stop rubbing that pure-blood nonsense under everyone's_ nose.' _Hermione snorted at the memory of the ridiculous list. '"If you want to attract the attention of a man, have the bell-boy page you",' she said in a squeaky caricature of Pansy's voice. Draco laughed. 'What complete and utter nonsense!' Agitated, she sat up. Draco found his hand fortuitously moved from her clavicle to her breast – where it remained. He moved to kneel behind her and continued to draw soft circles over her blouse whilst he painted a trail with gentle open-mouthed kisses across her neck.

'And that was advice number forty-two, Draco – FORTY-TWO!'

Draco chuckled into her locks and used her being distracted to scoot closer, continuously touching her.

'Just screams the answer to life, the universe, and everything, doesn't it?' Sarcasm was dripping from her lips like venom. 'And it doesn't even make any bloody sense! Why, for Christ's sake, would a man be attracted to a woman just because she got a message? Because she's busy?' She was talking herself into a rage; her cheeks were flushed pink. 'Oh, but not too busy, of course, because how could she play house-wife for him? Pshaw!'

Draco didn't answer, he was still busy kidding her. His kisses grew ever more intense. He moved her locks from her neck and began exploring her nape with his lips. His tongue flicked out to trace the veins in her neck.

'I know exactly what you mean, Granger.' His breath clung to her sensitive skin his tongue had been tracing patterns on. Hermione felt gooseflesh breaking out as his hands travelled across her front. 'Why would I want a tame little house-wife when I can have a fiery hellcat instead?'

Hermione snorted. 'You're insufferable. I really should spank you for that.'

She felt him grin against her shoulder. 'Please do.' His voice sent minuscule vibrations down her spine. He lightly bit her neck, and she gasped. The touch on her breasts grew more intense. His fingers were brushing against her nipples. Hermione felt them grow taut underneath the fabric of her blouse. Automatically, she leaned into his touch, arching her back, aching for more contact. Draco shifted ever so slightly. He was still kneeling behind her, but his torso was now pressed against her, his hands worshipping her breasts as his mouth continued to travel along her jaw, her neck, her shoulders... His kisses became more urgent and Hermione felt his arousal prodding against her lower back, stoking her own excitement.

The heat in her cheeks spread throughout her body as his thumbs flicked against her hardened nipples, playing with them. She hummed in delight.

'You know,' Draco said between licks and kisses, his muffled words resonating through her body and pooling in her core, 'If we're talking about the real answer to life, the universe, and everything, I might have an idea what it actually entails.'

The rasp of his voice, the feel of his fingers twisting her nipples, and his tongue licking her skin had her mind go fuzzy and her body alternating between hot and cold.

'Oh, really?' she said, almost embarrassed how breathy she sounded. 'You know you'll need to demonstrate your hypothesis.'

In response, Draco's fingers danced over her blouse, opening one button after another, always taking care to let his fingertips slip inside and brush ever so lightly against the exposed skin. As his hands worked on her front, Hermione reached back, feeling for his head and the silky strands of his hair.

'Do you remember our trip to Paris last year?'

Finally, his nimble fingers had opened all of the buttons, and he peeled her out of the garment. He shifted behind her. His hands skirted along her torso, the flat of his hands exerting the softest and most delicious pressure along her ribs, her belly, skirting up over her breasts again and brushing against her sensitive peaks.

'Yes.' Her voice was barely a rasp, but it still seemed unnaturally loud to her. She pressed herself against him, pulling him forward. One hand slipped inside her bra, rubbing her nipples, while the other skirted over the swell of her breast down the valley of her stomach and played with the hem of her trouser.

'And do you remember our visit to Musée d'Orsay?'

He pulled her flush against him, skirting further both of them up onto the bed so that she lay stretched out, between his bent knees. He lowered his head, tilting up her chin, and caught her lips in a slow, languid kiss. His lips were soft as usual, but Hermione could feel an urgency to the way his tongue danced across hers, inviting her, urging her on for more. As he pulled away, his fingers stroked her cheeks lightly. Hermione sighed. Looking up she thought that he was about to say something, but then she got lost in the intensity of his stare, the quicksilver shimmering around the dark of his irises.

'Mmmhhh.'

He moved away to gently lay down her onto the soft pillows.

'So you also recall the Courbet painting… what's it called again?' He scooted down the bed, his hands travelling along the length of her body, mapping the swell of her breasts, brushing against the hardened nipples in her bra. Hermione's breath hitched and she let herself sink even deeper into the bed.

'Do you mean _L'Origi_—' Hermione gasped. His mouth joined his fingers as he nibbled at her exposed skin. As his lips devoured the exposed skin of her breast, his fingers were dipping lower, exerting delicious pressure against her stomach. His touches resonated in her very core. It was as if he was stoking a fire deep within that slowly increased and sent heat waves all over her skin and made her wet at the same time. '—_L'origine du monde_.' Her voice was barely a whisper. She was burning from the inside out and she itched to move things along. Her hand made to touch him, but she had barely moved a finger when Draco had her pinned her against the bed.

'The one that exposed the centre of a naked woman, legs spread?' His eyes were barely silver around the darkness and they bore into her with a burning intensity.

'Yes,' she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her hungrily, his tongue and lips demanding her in such a way that Hermione could almost feel every shred of sense leaving her mind.

'Don't move.' His hot breath tickled the sensitive skin below her ear and sent shivers racing down her spine. Hermione bit back a moan.

'I think Courbet had it exactly right. So let me show you my answer to the origin of life, the universe, and everything, and maybe we can forget about this other nonsense.'

Draco moved lower again, lips and tongue feeling along the curve of her neck, the ridge of her throat, licking and kissing along her clavicles while his hands ran up and down her sides. His tongue flicked against her cleavage and he outlined the lacy barrier of her bra. Where the soft wetness of his tongue should've cooled her skin, it just incensed the burning inside of her. Hermione was aching to feel him, for him to go further, to hold her lover close. To touch her in the deepest, most intimate way possible.

Inadvertently, a whimper dropped from her lips, and she arched her back.

She heard him suck in a breath. And then, finally, his hands joined his wicked tongue, and he shoved aside the bra. At Hermione's deep sigh came Draco hummed against her skin in appreciation.

'Did I ever tell you how I loved it when you unravelled for me?'

Hermione could barely shake her head no.

'Seeing you, the cool and composed Hermione Granger, lose every shred of her precious, incredible mind, is the most erotic thing.'

His lips were hot against her skin. His fingers were leaving fiery traces across her covered breasts.

'Your legs spread out, your centre pink and juicy and exposed... and just for me to see.' His fingers brushed against where her nipples were peaking underneath the garment.

'I know exactly what Courbet saw. The power of beauty. The beauty of power.'

His touches stoked the burning inside of her and pooling in her knickers. She sucked in a breath.

'And you know how—' The words dropped against her hot skin, ever so slightly cooled by flicks of his tongue. 'I love to worship—' His fingertips pressed against her bra, rubbing her nipples underneath. '—the origin of everything.'

His words sent tiny bolts of electricity through her body, making her ache for more. There was also a new urgency to his touches that stoked the sweltering fire inside of her. Her breathing quickened and grew shallow. She willed his fingers to go lower – go _there_, but Draco continued to tease her, skirting around her nipples, nibbling and licking everywhere but where her peaks were firm and sensitive rubbing against the cloth of her underwear. While his lips continued to tease, his teeth grazing her soft skin, his hands skirted around to her sides and dipped between her body and the covers. Finally, he undid the clasp; Hermione's breath hitched in anticipation. Draco moved around her and looked down onto her. She could just imagine what he was seeing: glistening eyes, heaving breasts, flushed cheeks. He lowered his head as he bent over her. With delicious slowness, he tugged at the bra with his teeth, and it lazily peeled from her chest. His hands found her, kneading her exposed flesh, and the fire was spreading all over her body and incensed her core.

Her breath was growing shorter and shorter in tandem with his touches becoming more intense: he was sucking at her, his tongue stroking her tits deliciously, caressing her flesh, as he moved closer and closer to her nipples. Finally, his mouth moved over them, and the ghost of his hot breath made them stiffen even more. Hermione felt another rush of heat flood her body.

She was panting now, desiring more, a heavier touch; impatient to feel him where she most desired it.

His tongue flicked against nipples, and a sigh escaped her lips. 'Please, Draco.'

She just felt his lips curl around her areola. Hermione couldn't hold herself back any longer. She raked her fingers through his silky hair, pressing him lightly against her tits. She threw her head back in passion as his light licking transformed into sucking, sending jolts of electricity down her spine and all over her body. When he twisted her nipples just the way she enjoyed it, she subconsciously lifted her pelvis, eager for more friction. His hands were heavily roaming up and down her body. His palms were pressing against her and were stoking that delicious ache within her.

She panted, and Draco slowly moved south, his hands never leaving her body, his mouth devouring her skin. Hermione was a mess; the touches and kisses had left her in a dazed state. Eager to feel, she caressed all of him she could reach; she stroked his silver hair, his elegant neck, his broad shoulders, his strong arms.

Hermione snapped out of her admiration for her boyfriend when his fingers and lips nipped at the rim of her skirt. His tongue darted out to lick the skin underneath the fabric in accord with his hands skirting along her legs. Hermione couldn't help but moan.

'Off with it.'

His intense gaze bore into her, making her heady. 'As the lady wishes,' he said, the curve of his mouth tugging into a secret smile. He sat up, and Hermione could make out the evidence of his arousal. His cock was rigid and heavy and struggling against his trousers. At the sight, another shock of heat resonated through her body. Draco languidly peeled her skirt from her skin, his lips and tongue following his hands as he pulled it down her legs. She spread her legs wider, exposing herself to him. When he had finally stripped it off her, she sat up and slung her arms around him. She caught his lips in a kiss, pouring all her affection, all her lust, all her love for him into it. Her tongue stroked against his, tracing the seam of his lips, and her hands were roaming up and down his body, eager to feel every angle, every bump and ridge of his muscular torso against her own skin.

'I want you, Draco. Now.' Both their breaths were coming shorter. 'I want you inside of me. I want you to _fuck_ me.' Her lips descended onto his once more, her tongue chasing the friction that she craved in her throbbing centre. Her hands skirted down his torso. She needed to feel him, too; needed to feel his cock hot and heavy in her palm, tracing every vein with her fingertips. She wanted...

His hands caught hers before she got far.

'Let me give this to you, Hermione,' he said, voice raspy. His lips wandered from her mouth to her ear. 'Please.' He grabbed her hands and placed them in the pillows above her head. 'I want that sensible, brilliant brain of yours stop being able to do anything but think of me.' He dropped an almost chaste kiss on her lips, and then his tongue lightly licked along her upper lip. 'Let me worship the origin of the world.' He moved down her body once again, nibbling and licking her skin along the way, his fingertips and nails grazing her sensitive skin in a way that sent little fires all over her body. 'I want that sassy little mouth of yours to scream in pleasure. Just for me.' He traced the edges of her knickers, his tongue darting out to stroke her flesh that it left Hermione's chest heaving for breath. 'And then–' he looked from between her legs and Hermione saw the wicked glint in his eyes. '–I will fuck you so hard you'll see stars.'

Hermione thought she might lose it. She felt as though she was in a daze, addled by lust.

'Yes,' she breathed and closed her eyes, unable to do anything but drown in the sensation of him all around her. Draco was all over her skin and in her mind.

He dropped open-mouthed kisses all along her bared legs. With every contact, Hermione felt a stab of hot desire shoot right into her core. She shifted her legs and subconsciously bared her core to him even more. She felt the bed shift, and then she felt his hot breath against her cunt. A moan escaped her.

He curled his fingers into the hem of her knicker. Ever so slowly, he peeled off the lace, exposing inch after inch.

'You know what?' He was right _there_, his breath on her skin sending delightful shivers up and down her spine.

'What?' Her voice was barely a whisper.

He stripped the garment off her, his hands caressing her legs as he did so. Hermione felt the exposure of her swollen core; the cool air hit her in a way that made intensified the thrumming and throbbing. She was so desperate for him to touch her cunt that she almost cried out in pleasure when she felt the heat of his skin radiate against her wet, over-sensitised cunt.

'I think–' She felt his tongue run along the seam of her sex, and she almost cried out. It was as if waves of pleasure were crashing down on her, burying her. '–I've discovered the answer to life–' he accentuated his words with tiny flicks against her labia, 'the universe–', his tongue swirled around the glans of her clit, and her breath came out in gasps, '–and everything.' She cried out when he pressed his tongue against her nub. He started to stroke up and down, dragging his tongue around and around the peak. He alternated his licking by flicks against her most sensitive parts, sometimes diving into the depth of her core. The passion that had been sweltering inside was breaking out like a wildfire. The burning intensity of his touch was consuming her from the inside and spread all over her body. Draco increased pace and pressure, and Hermione was a panting mess, her back arching from the bed to get _more_. She felt the fire burning her up, spreading through her veins, and bursting in her heart. Her breath stuttered and her heart raced, and Draco kept on pushing, pushing, _pushing_ her towards the edge. She felt it nearing, she could feel it coming. The fire was turning into tiny explosions, erupting along her spine, setting off chain reactions and detonating in her–

'Ohhhhh, fuuuuck, Dracoooo!' Hermione threw back her head as an all-consuming, scorching blaze stormed through her body, setting every single nerve on fire, and making cinder of her veins.

She was still catching her breath when she felt his lips crashing down on her. He was swallowing her pleasure, keeping the fire sweltering inside her.

'I've got to have you now,' he said, voice raspy, coal-grey eyes burning with lust.

He pushed back and swiftly rid himself of his clothes. His cock hung thick between his legs, jerking ever so often, evidence of his arousal. He knelt down, grabbing her spread legs, and finally, _finally_, pushed himself inside her dripping, pulsating core.

Draco closed his eyes in obvious rapture, his mouth agape. He pulled back and repeated the motion. His strokes were languid and lazy at first. Hermione relished the feel of his cock inside of her, stretching her cunt, filling her just the way she loved it. She was so wet that traces of her desire clung to him and trailed down her arse. His movements became deeper, more urgent. The grip on her thighs tightened, and his pace quickened. His fingers dug into her skin as he set a punishing rhythm. Hermione tilted her hips and spread her legs wider. Heat was once again pooling in her core and started racing through her body. Draco pulled her closer to himself so her hips were elevated on his knees, allowing him to fuck her even deeper. He panted from the exertion, all the while continuing the punishing rhythm. The sounds of their fucking were loud and wet. Hermione felt the familiar fiery sensation flaring deep inside of her. She shifted, knowing she could get there even faster if he–

'Let me fuck you from behind,' he said between gritted teeth. Hermione rolled onto her stomach, keeping her legs spread and slightly angled. Draco gripped her hips and drove home.

'Yeeesss!' Hermione keened in rapture. She met every snap of his hips. Every stroke felt even more intense than before. He was pulling her back onto his cock, his balls slapping wetly against her labia, stimulating her cunt even more.

'Oh god, yes, Draco! YES! Right _there_!' Hermione felt one of his hands leaving her hip, skirting to her drenched lips. He rubbed her while he kept pounding and pounding and pounding into her.

'Fuck, Hermione! You're so fucking wet! So fucking good.'

His hissed words made her stomach clench. Hermione arched her back and pushed out her arse. 'Ohhhh, yesss... Keep going... just like… oh... oh, fuuu-fuuuuck!'

Draco was pounding into her with abandon, grunting with every snap his hips.

The sounds of their fucking filled their hotel room, but Hermione was lost in the sensation of her hot cunt swallowing his cock, rubbing against her inside and out. Her continued arousal was consuming her body and clouding her mind that the familiar building sensation almost surprised her. It came suddenly; a flash of electricity jolted through her body, making her gasp and shudder violently.

'Fuuuuck yesss! Oh god, Dracooo! '

He fucked her through her climax. He pushed her onto the blanket while she was convulsing around him. His thrusts became more erratic, more punishing, as he chased his own release. And then he grabbed her arse and, with a few more strokes, he buried himself deep inside her, pouring all of him into her slick, swollen centre. Completely spent, he fell onto her.

They lay there, panting, half on each other, half on the blankets. Hermione turned her head to face Draco. His face was glistening, the familiar blush spreading over his cheeks.

'So that's the answer to life, the universe and everything?'

He opened his eyes and hummed, raising one arm to stroke her back.

Hermione smiled. 'That was a nice way to prove your point.' She smirked. 'But I might require further convincing.'

Although he was still soft inside her, Hermione felt him twitch.

Hermione sighed into his kiss and relished the feel of his broad, smooth hands caressing her arms, running down her shoulders and stroking her back. He peeled his lips from hers and, bracing himself on his bent arms, he took in her face. She was flushed from the exertion, her lips swollen red and eyes sparkling dark, a blush colouring her neck and her beautiful breasts.

'You are so very beautiful.'

Losing himself in the dark pools of her eyes, Draco rooted himself in her once more. Hermione gasped and reached up to embrace him. Her hands roamed all over his back as she pressed into him. His face hovered over hers; their eyes connected, creosote and silver, and it was as if their souls were touching.

'I love you, Hermione.' He lowered his head to catch her lips once again in a languid kiss. He stroked in and out of her, his movements growing more impatient. Hermione gasped at the feeling of his length moving within her, her walls still fluttering from her earlier orgasms. Her fingers pressed into his skin as her hands felt along his spine, his ribs, and his muscles, eager to feel as much of him as possible. He buried himself deep inside her, plunging into her molten core over and over and over again. She lifted her pelvis to meet his every thrust, and they both moaned at the intensity of the sensation.

The pace of their bodies moving with each other gradually changed; as the sighs and gasps turned into moans, the movements became deeper, faster, harder. Draco was heaving under the exertion, willing himself to hold out for her, to push her over the edge yet again. Another low moan spilt from his lips as Hermione crossed her legs behind his glorious arse, and he inadvertently jerked his hips to bury himself even deeper inside of her. Panting and frantic, almost desperate, movements filled the room. The kisses they shared were interrupted by gasps and sighs, as their connected over and over and over again, chasing their releases.

She felt it coming first. It approached her like a tidal wave, at first so very slowly. And then, all of a sudden, it rushed over her body, overwhelming her, consuming her, and leaving her a helpless mess. She only noticed that she had cried out when Draco's lips crashed down on her, silencing her deep, throaty moans, as he, too, stiffened and shuddered inside her for what felt like an eternity.

Hermione was almost ashamed to say that they spent the majority of the weekend in bed.

Almost.

Draco was so delighted at the sight of her in the crotch-less teddy that he had wasted no time to fuck her over the hotel sofa. He returned the favour when he later surprised her by transfiguring his robes into a bell-boy uniform —to deliver an important message.

'Pansy would _die_ if she knew what we did to her precious pure-blood marriage advice.' Hermione gasped as Draco lifted the skirt of her dress, and she felt his tongue and lips skating up along her inner thigh.

Draco's head re-appeared between her legs, the dress carelessly flapped over his head.

'Pansy would die from envy if she knew what _your_ pure-blood did to you.' And his head disappeared again, bringing Hermione to new heights of ecstasy and making good on his promise to make her lose her mind.

Indeed, he was so successful, that Hermione didn't even notice the velvet box dropping out of his breast pocket on the way to her third orgasm...

* * *

**Thank you for reading! As always, let me know what you think. If you spot any issues at all, please let me know, either here, via PM, or through tumblr (thelastlynx . tumblr . com) or twitter (at thelastlynX). And even if you don't have any complaints, say hello, I'd love to chat! Cheers, Lynx**

**P.S. If anyone here is following Sh-Shopping Spree, I have good tidings: the next chapter is with my beta, so an update won't be too long - hooray! **


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